Roses and Wine
by Miki-Death-Strike
Summary: They were children with no parents. As they grew up, each faced a heartbreaking experience. As they try to live their lives, each must face the fears they had run away from, and confront the very thing that may affect their future. Next Chapter up! Review
1. Prologue: Snow Waltz

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VIII, heaven's no! By the way, it's AU!

**Snow Waltz**

_Prologue: Snow Waltz_

She'd always come to pause and glance at the pale wintry sun as it slowly made its descent into the thick and gloomy clouds just before the horizon. She'd stand on the overpass leading into the main city, place her shoulder bag unto the ground beside her, and gaze at the peculiar light that seemed to stretch and reach everything. She'd then become oblivious to the growing shadows of night until that mysterious entity would almost completely delve into the horizon, then she'd have to rush home, submit to punishment her caretaker would surely give her, then feed the angry children who'd patiently await her.

But, this evening, something felt oddly wrong to her. Just above her was the overpass that ran parallel with the tunnel she walked in, and yet she found her booted feet inching further into the black recesses of the underpass for reasons unclear to her. The mounting snow blown in by the gusts of wind became thin as she ventured deeper into the dark passageway. She could sense—and feel—something just before the end of the tunnel beckoning to her. This strange palpable _thing_ was what lured her here, and now she was almost face-to-face with whatever it was. Perplexed by her own actions, and amazed by it as well, she knelt down and stretched her gloved hands forward, puffs of unseen breath escaping her throat.

The cold seemed to penetrate through her oversized winter coat into her very bones, and the longer she crouched down, touching the nothingness, the sensation biting at her rosy cheeks became overwhelming. She was certain that it was well past six and that she had fooled around far too long, so the girl stood, and slowly turned around giving up, leaving for home. Her boots crunched the melting snow below and as she did so, a loud expel of breath sounded behind her, as if someone had been holding their breath too long and needed to release. Gasping in fear, the girl's eyes averted from the white blur of light just before her, back to the darkness. Now, the noise sounded as if someone were gasping. Her body spun fully around and she backed up a bit.

Instantly reaching into her bag positioned beside her, the girl fondled through the warm bundles of fresh food until she found her diminutive flashlight. Flicking the nub, a blue-white light spilled unto the cluster of dirty rags that seemed to shroud something blond with the palest green eyes she had ever seen. Her mouth opened as she realized that the cluster of rags appeared to be a young boy. He stared back at her, wincing from the light, but she could see the indignant look in them.

They could only stare at each other, for they were both too shocked to realize. The boy had expected some old haggard to discover him in the abandoned tunnel that once led into the underground of the main city, after all no young girl would be caught walking alone in these poor parts. She was too pretty for her approximate age of fourteen, and the loss of color in her skin due to the bitter cold, did not at all suite her radiant azure eyes and the blonde locks that slightly blew under her woolen hat.

"What?" he said in response to her gawking. She closed her mouth, the rest of her body unmoving including the irritatingly bright flashlight.

"I-I . . . Well, I . . . oh, you poor thing," she sympathized, letting her imagination wonder the possibility of her ending up like him. She knelt down, inching closer. Her knees, encased in woolen stockings, touched the damp ground. "Here," she whispered, digging into her tote bag for a wrapped sandwich she bought for herself while passing through the street markets. She handed the cooling turkey sandwich to him, but he kept staring at her pathetically sad eyes. "Go ahead. I can wait," she assured him.

"Don't you have anything better to do? Get out of here," he coldly commanded. Taken aback by his harsh and sudden words, the blond girl snatched the sandwich back to her chest when he swatted it away. She stood from her crouched position, her heart pounding.

"I'm . . . sorry." she softly spoke, unable to conjure anything else better to say, she was still taken aback by his attitude.

"Yeah, whatever," he dismissed, and she turned to leave again. "Stupid chick," he muttered.

"Were you holding your breath?" she suddenly queried, her heart skittering. Some unknown force made her ask the question just so she could converse with him more. His hard and slender eyes were already intriguing, and maybe his personality was too.

"What?" was all he could say. The girl turned around again, placing her flashlight into her pocket now. The sandwich remained in her left hand.

"You didn't want me to find you, is that it?" she asked, her voice sounding hopeful even though there was no need to be. She was already disappointed by her discovery. Now kneeling down, she placed the sandwich unto the ground. "Well, here, I'm giving this to you anyway. You may not choose to eat it now, but you will. . . ."

She was definitely an intelligent one, probably one of those uptown girls' daughters his superiors always had in their company. He watched as she turned to leave, hopefully this time for good.

He rolled his eyes when she paused again.

She was thinking of the enjoyment of being in the company of a loving family, sitting by a warm fire during the winter nights and laughing about old times. She was pondering on the fact that this boy was missing so much and he didn't realize it. Her feet were acting on its own again for untold reasons. Her gloved hands were grabbing his slender wrist and she was pulling him from his position. She grabbed his cloak and she dragged him out of the tunnel.

"You'll like it with me," she stated. "Trust me."

"What?" he said again. "Where are you taking me. Let go, you dumb chick!"


	2. Chapter I: Reflections

**Roses And Wine**

_Chapter I: Reflections_

The face in the mirror was nothing more than a melancholic display of unhappy experiences throughout her life thus far. Her blonde river of hair had been pulled back into an elegant bun of braids suitable for the vermillion dress she wore. A few flaxen curls trickled down either side of her young face and down the nape of her neck, as if to indicate the spirals that defined her life so. They told her that she much resembled a rose in full bloom, having the red dress and the timeless beauty that surpassed all. The arched blond eyebrows showed inquisitiveness in the littlest of things. And those radiant blue eyes under them, that guarded her emotions and thoughts well from any probers, left no invitation for the shy society who hadn't the courage to face and speak with her. Her crimson lips, sweet and forbidden to all, was the thorn that paralleled her eyes and protected her emotions and pride with sharp and smart retorts when provoked.

They all spoke as if they could read her so easily with just a glance. As if she had no complexity or substance within her _rose-like_ features. She was much more than just a beauty and the perfect woman everyone made her out to be. But she supposed that their eyes could only see skin-deep. They couldn't delve any further to see her internal conflicts that plagued her mind. Her life wasn't as pretty as her face, and no one could see it.

However, it was partially her fault, she wouldn't allow anyone to _see_ her as anything else. She liked it that way, being able to hide behind herself and her face, and she secretly liked to ridicule those who couldn't tell that she wasn't alright, that she wasn't happy at all.

_How do I expect them to know, if I don't myself, _she'd often ask herself. Her dreadful life was to blame, but there was something else that her face reflected into the mirror. Something she couldn't decipher no matter how hard she looked, and she resented the feeling that was the core of her unhappiness. It had been there for so long until she was unaware of its presence. Only when she looked in the mirror she could see the display of longing and hurt in her mind's eye, and she didn't know why.

"Quistis, darling. Are you feeling alright?" the bride below her queried. Quistis' eyes widened for a short while with surprise. She then realized that she had stopped brushing the shock of ebony hair resting in her gloved hands. She told herself not to look inside the mirror, for it's witchery often seduced her where she couldn't escape. Brushing the bride's long locks again, Quistis averted her eyes from the mirror.

"I'm sorry, I was just admiring how lovely you look," the blond lied. The woman below her twisted her neck gently so she could look away from the mirror beside them herself.

"Oh, don't be modest. I saw you looking at yourself!" the woman laughed. She grasped the capsule of dark red lipstick. "Who can blame you? With beauty like that, I'd be married to the mirror instead of puppy-eyes. . . . We'd make such a wonderful couple."

"But you love Mr. Kramer far too much than your looks," Quistis joked, saying it as if she wanted the bride to admit it herself. The woman with the ebony hair laughed again, puckered her thin lips, and began applying the makeup. "You two were made for each other, and I still can't believe that you're just now getting married."

"Yes, we've been through so much, all of us. Buying the ranch and raising the chocobos and all. . . . And now, we have the money to pay for the marriage expenses," she reminisced. Quistis smiled warmly even though the bride couldn't see.

"Well, it's all about to pay off," the blond whispered, crouching down a bit. Quistis placed the wooden brush atop the cherry oak desk, all the while avoiding to look into the mirror again. The bridesmaid grasped her flowing gown into her hands and walked toward the bed that was draped with beautiful dark colors of plum, dark purple, and silver sheets and quilts. Laying in its crest was the translucent white veil that was to be placed atop the bride's head as if it were a crown.

Quistis lifted the veil and analyzed it. Mr. Kramer would use his gentle hands to flip the cloth behind his bride's face so he could look into her beautiful aureate eyes. Then, he'd dip his head in to kiss her on the lips, first gingerly, then fully. They'd both smile to each other, get lost in their own happiness, and the party would begin.

At least, that was how it was when Quistis was married to the world-famous top photographer, Dwight Brookhaven of Dollet. She remembered every detail as if she had directed it herself. And now, when she looked back on it, all of the lights and the celebrating, and the kisses, and the lovemaking, and the happiness, and the laughs seemed like an unmoving picture, only there to highlight one chapter in her life where she crossed over to womanhood, nothing more. And she often wondered if her wedding had only been a spotlight through the void to help her realize that.

No! She mustn't think like that. She and Dwight were a nice and lovely family, not just some couple that married and divorced within months for publicity and fame. She loved him, and he loved her. That was all they needed to make the relationship work.

". . . and it seems he always wants me to scold him whenever he keeps the chocobo gates opened," the bride sighed, "He'll never learn." Quistis turned around, unaware that she had the veil pressed against her breasts and that she had absently replayed her own wedding day in full detail.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Quistis asked, stepping forward a bit. She protruded the veil forward, gesturing for the bride to let her position it where it belonged. The bride's left eyebrow furrowed slightly, then she walked forward slowly.

Her lanky figure was so elegant and gorgeous inside the alabaster wedding dress, and it made Quistis' eyes tear a bit. Though at the ripe age of forty-two, the bride was still glamourous. Her slender face obscured her age, and the familiar smile that was always plastered on her face made anyone feel warm and loved inside. She was so regal and lofty, being just two inches shorter than Quistis' 5'6. The bride's figure reminded Quistis of when she was just a child and how she'd always look up to her and tried to be just like her. Even now, the old woman was still shaping Quistis the more she was around her.

"Darling, there's no need to cry," the bride cooed. She took the veil from Quistis and placed it onto the bed. Taking the bridesmaid's gloved hands in her own, she stepped closer. "You're the bridesmaid, and you must be strong like the others. Pull yourself together, okay, rose?"

_Rose_. . . . She hated that nickname. She and Cid Kramer had gave her that nickname when she was a child, associating it with her features. Of course, at the age of eight, what girl wouldn't want to be compared to a rose's beauty? But now, she was a woman, and the idea of being nicknamed after a plant wasn't at all flattering to her.

"Oh, Matron," Quistis said softly. "I—"

"Edea," the bride interjected. "I'm no longer your matron. You children are grown now," she explained for the umpteenth time.

". . . Edea, it's okay. I have to shed a few tears for you. I mean, you two are going to be happily married when this is all over. What then? I won't be able to hear you two arguing about the date you should get married, or what colors Cid should wear for his tuxedo." Quistis joked. She smiled sadly at Matron. "So, let me get this out of the way and come to the realization that you guys will be married forever."

It was all a lie. She was crying because watching Edea in her wedding dress made her want to relive her own. But she knew, she couldn't have that back.

Placing the veil unto Edea, Quistis stepped back to make sure it was centered perfectly. She then moved to the ashen door, past the mirror. She sighed.

"Okay, you stay put. I'll go make sure everything is set," Quistis explained. She opened the door and disappeared into the yellow light of the hallway.

As she passed Edea's bed chamber to reach the staircase that led down into the grand hall, a man with a familiar black cowboy hat that had spurs embroidered into its band was crouched against the marble stone wall just before the stairs, a camcorder accompanied him on his side.

"Irvine?" Quistis said, moving forward. The man lifted his head at the call of his name. When he realized that it was Quistis finally making her appearance again, he smiled and lifted himself up as well as the camcorder. "What were you doing?"

"Oh, nothing. Just waiting for you, even though judgement day has come and past," he said, holding a hand up with two fingers pointing toward the ceiling, "twice." Quistis smiled flatly at his reference to how dreadfully long she took with Edea's preparations.

"It was necessary," she explained. She began her elegant stride down the staircase, Irvine following suit. "Anyway, you didn't have to."

"Ah, but see what I would do for you?" he jested, placing the camcorder atop his shoulder. "Yeah, but I was up there wondering if you knew where that blank video tape I put away would be hiding." Quistis stepped off of the last step, spinning around to face him.

Soft orchestral music could be heard flowing into the hollow grand hallway from the opened door. A chilled breeze also blew in with the music, causing her to shiver a bit. Irvine finished his flight of stairs, waiting for Quistis to give him a reply.

"Shouldn't you know?" she queried. Irvine shook his head and shrugged.

"I kind of forgot. Man, it's been too long since I've been in these here walls," Irvine said, taking note to the grey stone ceiling and walls. Nothing really had changed since he was a child dwelling inside the house. Quistis took note as well, then she studied Irvine, suddenly seeing how mature he had become. It _had_ been such a long time.

"It has been," she agreed. "With work and all, it's kind of hard to keep visiting faithfully." Irvine nodded and Quistis averted her eyes to the opened door at the end of the hall.

"If Cid and Matron ain't mad, then I can't complain," Irvine stated with a laugh. They began their walk down the long dim-lit hall. Candles, aflame with the soft red glow of its fire, were supported by sconces and placed on every forth beam that sustained the building on either side. And the slender vermillion runner that led straight out into the outdoor of the building, displayed the polished cobblestone floor at its sides.

The home reminded Quistis more of a cathedral she had seen in some interior design magazine. Homes like that could only be found in the Centran regions.

Passing closed doors that either led into the study, the library, the kitchen, or the living room, Irvine and Quistis stopped short of the opened door where the wind seemed to pick up even more.

"Well, I'm going to go see if Cid is ready," Quistis said, already heading up another flight of stairs toward the east wing of the mansion.

"He's already outside," Irvine spoke, pointing to where the reception would be held. Quistis then stopped her pace.

"Geeze Irvine," she exasperated. "Thank you for telling me so late."

"Oh, I thought you were headed out," he explained. Quistis shook her head.

"Without a bride?" she asked to which Irvine shrugged.

"Here, I'll go get her, you just relax and enjoy yourself." She nodded after a few seconds of thoughts, then waited until Irvine disappeared into a corridor that would lead to the base of the west wing stairs, before she stepped out onto the pavement where just a few feet away, aligned chairs sat on either side of the white carpet on which the bride would come gaiting down on. A few people were scattered about the wooden podium where the priest would have to stand. She could see that they were mostly immediate family members and friends of the Kramer's lingering at the podium. A few most trusted business associates were spotted within the crowd.

But Quistis wasn't interested in conversing with any of them, she wanted to speak with her husband for a while in hope that this unknown and unwanted burden would be lifted from her. She needed to see his dark eyes that were so loving toward her. She needed to feel his soft lips on hers and she needed to run her fingers through his brown hair. She wanted to drink in his masculinity while they played love games with each other, just to admit to herself and her conscience that she was in love with him and there was no reversing that.

Quistis began her walk, taking up her dress in her hands. She knew exactly where to find him.

- - - - - - - - - -

"I don't care. I don't want her." His tone was low and vexed, but the person on the other end of the cellular phone seemed not to notice.

"I'm telling you, sir. She's a big one, she's not in the least bit a flop. Please, just hear her sing!" the other person pressed. "Once you do, your heart'll be hers. And she's cute too!"

Squall closed his eyes, a hand running up his forehead to the brown locks that became chilled with the constant autumn breeze. He realized how long he had been inside the chocobo ranch, doing nothing but wasting his time listening to his assistant describe the so-called new sensation songstress of the current time. He wanted to tell him how pathetic he sounded, talking on and on like that, but he never liked voicing his thoughts. People tended to become buddy-buddy with him when he did that, and he disliked it. Apparently, his remarks weren't taken seriously, and they'd laugh at their own stupidity, just as his assistant would do. It was very irritating to him.

Pulling the silver cell phone from his tired ears, Squall Leonhart flipped it shut with a sigh as his assistant continued to describe their next "money-maker" for the Siggee's Bar down in Deling City. Actually, it was more of a pub than anything, equipped with a first-class hotel service just above the pub. The building, located within the lively mall complex that Deling City was famous for, provided breakfast, lunch, and dinner as well as alcoholic drinks during the night hours, and the musical entertainment was something to stay a few hours more for. But for the past month, the musical amusement had taken a turn for disaster. It had pushed business away drastically, and the only person to blame was Zone Hasselholf.

Squall often questioned his assistant's sanity when it came to discerning talent within people. Rock bands who didn't know anything about coordination and staying in tune had appeared inside of the pub expecting a happy audience at the end of their performance, so Zone had promised them. Then there was the memorable scene just last week when a folk singer and his guitarist had just reached the end of their performance, and the moment Zone's face appeared, drinks, bottles, and even food were thrown unto the stage. It was quite an embarrassing moment for him, but it wasn't the worst time of his life until Mr. Leonhart had his say-so. He was seriously considering firing the idiot to save what was left of his pub, but Zone continued to plead telling him time and again that he had absolutely no place else to go. So again, Squall would take him under his wing after his ultimate silent treatment that seemed to lengthen every time Zone screwed up, and he'd give him a second chance to redeem himself. And he would screw that up, then came the third chance and another screw up.

Perhaps the big heart within Squall refused to let his mouth voice the anger within him. There really was nowhere Zone could go, and if he did find a job, it wouldn't pay nearly as much as Squall paid which was 500 gil an hour, more than enough for a single man to make an adequate living. And not to mention the hotel rent was free, Squall thought to himself. The worst thing his assistant could expect from Squall was silence, silence, and more silence.

The sound of chocobos moaning and singing to each other suddenly entered Squall's ears, clearing the voices his thoughts made as he dreaded his return back to Deling. The huge birds flapped their leviathan wings in delight at the pebbles they picked from the tray before them and ate. Squall grinned shortly, maneuvering the stable so he could run his fingers through the golden crown of the nearest chocobo in its stall. It made a noise of delight, bobbing its head and adjusting it so Squall could caress more effectively. He felt its course mane and remembered how he always wanted to pet the animal that looked like a bird. He'd always refer to them as an oversized bird when he was a child, and Cid would always tell him that that was exactly what they were, flightless birds.

Their golden beaks, short and stubby for pecking open shells and such, were hairless, and their large crystal blue eyes, clear as the skies, were so observant and curiously cute. The aureate plumage at the tips of their heads and on their chests curled and protruded up toward the sky as if always alerted. The yellow stocky tails, curling and protruding as well, seemed to spread and fan out whenever they bent down and they seemed to display how lofty and kingly a creature they were. But the claws at the base of their hard, long, and sturdy legs were nothing short of dangerous. If provoked, the birds could easily pounce onto even the strongest of men, bringing them down unto their buttocks, and easily penetrate tissue.

Indeed, these mysterious, easy-to-train, bird-like structured, sunny thoroughbred birds were Squall's elixir to tranquility. Coming out to Cid and Edea Kramer's wedding wasn't so bad after all. He opted that coming back to the place where he had grown up was the best place to escape the pressures of responsibility and life itself.

"Was that a smile, Squall?" The voice came from the left. The chocobos, Squall, and the breeze were all directed at Quistis Brookhaven who smiled back and paused. Squall took his hand back from the head of the feeding chocobo, placed his cell phone into his suit-jacket's inside pocket and shrugged.

"Maybe," he simply said. Quistis folded her arms, expecting that reply from him. She faced the giant birds, overcome by the smell of mostly chocoboflesh, chocobo feed, and grass. It was very rare for a chocobo to have hygiene problems, and their smell alone was never unbearable. They'd actually prefer to clean themselves before even eating a meal.

"So, mind telling me why you're out here? You're gonna' smell like chocobo when the wedding starts," Quistis warned, stepping forward. Squall shrugged, suddenly wanting to leave now that his solitude had been interrupted. The two were silent for a while, only the soft coos and the flapping of chocobo wings reverberated around the stable. "I thought I'd find Dwight here, since he likes chocobos a lot." she said. Silence was attained again.

"We'd better head back," Squall replied suddenly. He brushed past her, straightening his suit as he left. Quistis only watched him leave to take his spot somewhere near the podium.

"Did he just brush me off?" she asked to no one. Her only reply were the noises the chocobos made.

**Musings:** Squall has a soft spot for chocobos? Now, before anyone tries to shoot me, you must first understand that this is my story, and that as a kid growing up in the orphanage, Squall didn't have many opportunities to see the "outside world" and these exotic birds gave just a small glimpse of what was awaiting him when he got out on his own.

This story will basically follow the lives of four people and their romance and their struggles through life as young adults, so developing a complex personality is the most important part in this story, as always. While Squall isn't some cold robot not able to feel or say anything at all, he has a deeper side to him that he can only disclose to himself right now. Don't worry, you'll know why, though I think anyone who has a brain can guess. And as for Quistis and her unknown unhappiness, certain events will come together for _one _of the heartbreaking climaxes in her life.

**Final Note:** This story is contemporary by the way . . . duh. So, no daring sword fights, or unimaginable journeys that you find in my favorite novel genre, fantasy. Everyone is leading a normal life based in the Final Fantasy VIII world, and I will do my best to depict that. So, erasing the military instinct in them is one heck of job to do, but what makes it easier is just constantly being aware of the fact that their normal humans just like us! No military! Hope I get reviews...


	3. Chapter II: The Wedding

**Roses and Wine**

_Chapter II: The Wedding_

Gloomy grey clouds stretched across the northeastern skies, bringing cold winter winds from the snowy slopes of the country, Trabia. But the day was bright and lovely nonetheless, even though rain was said to be in the forecast for the evening. Mixed colors of orange and red leaves swirled around the pristine grey mansion as well as the grassy plains it overlooked as excited guests quickly took their assigned seats and watched carefully as the ring bearer made his appearance atop the prop that was supposed to resemble a miniature stage. His blond hair, gelled to protrude upward like a chocobo's, swayed with the wind and the rest of his hair gelled at the sides to incline downward made the slightest move through the torment of the breeze.

He was quite the short one, compared to Irvine Kinneas' 6'0 and Squall's 5'8. He factored directly in the middle of the men, being shorter than even Quistis. Irvine was the main one to joke about his height and how he stopped growing before everyone else. He'd often jest and wonder what else stopped growing on Zell, and the ring bearer would then reply with an obscene remark he would conjure at the last minute. If he was lucky enough, he would avoid a scolding from Edea who'd always seem to catch him no matter where he was.

Tapping the microphone before him, Zell Dincht spoke with a very wide grin of exhilaration and anticipation. "Alright, ya'll. We have a full house today!" he said, raising both his arms. He then rested them back on the podium. "Well, ya'll know what we're out here for, so calm yourselves until the bride comes. And guys, try to keep your mouths closed," the blond glanced at Irvine who tipped his hat in a chivalrous and charming cowboyish manner. "Alright Cid, this is your big day, all made for you and your soon-to-be wife. But first, I have to get a few words in before the ceremony." As he continued to hold up the commencement of the wedding, Zell reached into his pocket for a slip of paper containing the practiced words of a son showing his appreciation to his caretakers.

"I know Matron's listening over there in the doorway. . . ." he said with a laugh. ". . . Alright, here goes. As an engineer in artillery, I'm living my dream right now. . . ." He suddenly lifted his hands up as if to stop his own words. Closing his pale teal eyes, the twenty-five year old continued his speech. "Now, this ain't no cheesy sentimental crap I made up to make everyone here cry. What I want to say is that I'm thankful to Cid who guided me so that I could reach the profession _I_ wanted. You may not know it, but my job is for you, man." He eyed Cid. His arms were crossed at the base of his stomach and he nodded to Zell, accepting the acknowledgment with a grin. "And to Edea Kramer," now he spoke a bit louder for her to hear, "You were always there when I fell—"

"—of course she was. She had to be around you 24-7, 'cause you were the clumsy one of all." Irvine interjected. He laughed and some followed suit.

"Hey, I didn't mean physically," Zell retorted, his eyes widened with superiority. Irvine shrugged and laughed it off. "Anyway," he continued, "Matron . . . Edea, I want to thank you for taking me under your wings so that I could come this far today, and guiding me away from the bad influences. In honor of you guys, I'll celebrate this day fully and wholeheartedly. Congratulations, Mr. Kramer and Matron!" The blond folded his paper and let the priest replace him on the podium.

Only the sporadic breeze of autumn was heard for minutes before the orchestra posted at the left corner of the stage began their hymn to welcome the bride. Cid had relocated himself to stage where he would await Edea's appearance, a red rose in his hand. He watched through his glasses the many friends and family who all twisted their heads to the approaching beautiful flower girls. They were so young and cute as they shyly sprinkled red rose petals unto the white carpet below them. When the children reached the stage, they separated into two groups, some walking to the left and the rest walking to the right.

Then, a veiled beauty cloaked in a pearl gown, began her slow gait down the aisle. The audience stood while Irvine adjusted the camera's view so that he could better record the glamourous bride. He wanted to capture the serene look she gave behind the veil, and he wanted to capture the laughable grin her escort, Squall made. He appeared so awkward smiling, but it was only because Irvine was used to seeing a cast iron face that revealed so little within his steely grey-blue eyes.

"I want to see you waiting for your bride up there, someday Squall," Edea whispered, her motherly tone so familiar to him. Squall nodded once, saying nothing.

He actually winced at the thought of getting married. Two people sharing the same bed, the same home, and the same solitude? The commitments and obligations? Then the annoying children, the arguments, and everything else that accompanied a married couple. No thank you, that was one thing Squall could definitely live without.

- - - - - - - - - -

It was very delightful and amusing to see that Zell could hold his red wine well as he sat at the feasting table, talking away to his attractive wife, Taylor Dincht. She only smiled happily and nodded her head as he spoke and stuffed his face with the exquisite finger foods a waiter had brought to him after the request. It was quite embarrassing for her, to see a very handsome man dressed in a very expensive suit and behaving as if he'd never eaten in ages. She backed away slightly, telling him that she wanted to speak with Edea for a while. He nodded dismissively, and continued with the food.

"I never knew, Zell," came a familiar sarcastic voice. At the sarcasm, Zell continued to eat, not bothering to look up to Irvine whom he knew it was. "Red wine's your groove, eh?" When Zell did decide to look up, he noticed that the cowboy had been followed by Quistis' husband, Dwight Brookhaven himself. Immediately, the blond frantically brushed himself off, straightened his suit, took another sip of wine, and grinned at the photographer, famous for his uncanny ability to bring the most out of pictures.

Shaking hands, the two men greeted each other, then Irvine started the conversation.

"This is Zell Dincht, another one of my orphanage buddies," the cowboy explained to which Dwight nodded. His slicked back brown hair sparkled under the ballroom's overhead chandelier and Zell couldn't help but to look up.

The man was indeed handsome. His features were the kind that automatically associated him with that of some charming knight way back when. His skin was slightly tan under the golden light-bulbs, and the thin mustache above his upper lip shined with the same glimmer as his hair. He had a square jaw that fit perfectly with his thin and youthful face. And when his lips creased into a devilishly sweet grin, his jewels of dark brown eyes became very soft and welcoming.

The two released each other's hands from the firm shake. Zell, a bit distracted on creating a conversation with man, took another sip of wine. Luckily, Dwight took the silent hint and spoke.

"Ah, yes. Zell Dincht," his tone was soft and smooth and . . . intelligent. It was very calming. "I've heard of you. You're the creator of the new and modified gunblade. Am I correct?" he queried, taking a sip of his own red wine. Zell nodded excitedly.

"Yeah. Cid always had two in his study and I'd always ask about them. I guess that was where I got my inspiration from," the blond explained, rubbing his head as if he were intimidated by the fact that his choice of words were cheesy.

"I must know your secret for capturing such a beautiful relic of war and then modifying it the way you do. It is absolutely breathtaking, I must say," Dwight admitted.

"I-It's really nothing to it. Easy to catch on," Zell said modestly, his hand still rubbing the back of his neck. His pale teal eyes averted to his polished shoes and he didn't look up until Irvine spoke again.

"Oh yeah, Zell. This is _the_ artist of photography, and I'm his apprentice. So, now that you two are acquainted, I think I'll acquaint myself to that brunette over their." Irvine's slender finger pointed to bewildered emerald eyes as they skidded across the ceiling of the ballroom, careful not to miss any detail lest she miss an opportunity to be inspired. The cowboy was headed toward the brunette whose hair, curled toward her rosy cheeks, bounced when she titled her head to the side, inviting him to stroll toward her.

Zell, cursing Kinneas for leaving him so abruptly, faced Dwight and opted to talk about his career further. Then he'd ease his way into his love life with Quistis and eventually convince him to go find her, the reception was nearly over anyway.

"Finally. I've turned the mansion upside down looking for you," Quistis greeted the two men, her elegant posture having the power to arouse any unsuspecting man. But Zell, growing up with her was used to it, and it didn't affect him at all. He sighed with relief, Quistis was definitely a life saver.

Dwight, smiling generously, reached his left arm out so that she would wrap herself in them. They kissed and smiled affectionately at each other, all the while making Zell want his own wife to be near him so they could cuddle.

"I'm sorry darling, leaving you alone like that. I was just acquainting myself to Irvine's friends. I tell you, _he_ will turn the mansion upside down finding everyone," Dwight laughed. They kissed again, and when they parted, Quistis became irritated. She suddenly wanted everyone gone, she wanted just her husband and herself to be the only ones in the universe so they could do what had to be done.

As if a human couple magnet, more guests began to hover around the trio, easing themselves into conversation. First it was Cid Kramer, noting how remarkable Dwight's slacks and vest combination was and the way the color complimented it. And somehow, he had dragged Squall along, and the taciturn best man did his best to detach himself from the growing crowd. Then Edea Kramer came gliding along arm-in-arm with Zell's wife. And they began commenting on how lovely everyone looked together again at last on such a special occasion. Even Squall had to admit it as well. Soon, the entire orphanage crew were together again with a few outsiders and they chatted away, laughing and joking and remembering.

"So Edea, what're you and Cid gonna' do tonight?" Irvine queried, tipping a glass of wine toward the couple. Edea, a bit shocked by Irvine's comment, turned to Cid, her face a bright crimson. Cid Kramer laughed, his plump stomach rising and falling as he did so. He wrapped his arm around the lanky woman, pulling her in tightly.

"Oh, you should know Irvine. What do you kids call it now'a days? Getting 'caught in the net'?" Cid replied, the wine forcing his tongue to be a little lose with his words. Quistis gasped from the statement, then she laughed. Cid faced her. "Oh come Quistis, you're married. Sex is the obligation, isn't that right, Dwight?"

Quistis' husband straightened the pale blue tie at his throat and nodded. "I suppose so," he answered, clearing his throat. He glanced at his beautiful wife, then toward Irvine who had sparked the topic. "But what is sex without love?" he laughed. "Pleasure isn't the same without it," he said, as if he were advising the newly wedded couple.

Matron bobbed her head back with laughter. She patted Cid's shoulder, facing him. "We'll do well to remember that, huh, puppy-eyes?" He only nodded. She then faced Quistis across from her. "Oh rose, where in the world did you find Mr. Brookhaven? I am absolutely in love with him!" she laughed.

**Musings:** Aww, isn't it sweet that Edea and Cid are now married? Yes, I believe that although they are old, they are still very much in love and that they are a good couple together. The story now, seems to follow Quistis' life an entire bunch, mainly because hers is the most dramatic so far. Not much happening on Squall's end . . . yet. The thought of Squall getting married is actually quite plausible, though he may not admit it. It would be nice to see him married though. I won't say to whom, because some say Rinoa, some say Quistis or even Selphie. And I absolutely hate when they want Squall and Seifer to marry! Sorry to force my beliefs on you guys, but hello! They were never homosexual in the game, so why alter them? And people complain about Squall being out of character in peoples' fics. . . . Sheesh!

**Final Note:** Time for the kids to return to their daily lives again next chapter. Number 3 will focus on Quistis and Squall's job mainly. Zell and the rest will be explained later down the road, kind of tacky to clump them all together. Look out for a quick surprise some chapters later! Made a reference to the series 'Lost' in Cid's statement, wonder if you caught it. It was by my favorite character on there! By the way, anyone catch the person I modeled Dwight after? He starred in a good movie recently. Tee-hee!

Also, I happened to be scouting for some stories and I found this awsome one! It's called Sleepy Hyne by an authoress named Dead Pollen, click the search button and check her out! Wow! The fic is sort of kinda based off of Sleepy Hollow. And check out another fic Frozen Tears by Psycho Demon Creature. It will get you inspired!

**Shout-outs**

Psycho Demon Creature- Hey, you're a good guesser! and don't go bashing yourself. It's okay, we all don't have brains. Keep guessing. Please update Forzen Tears soon, it's so inspiring! Hope you didn't mind my Stories shout-out.

Jade Almasy: Those were my thoughts, exactly! It is quite refreshing to write characters with an entirely new background. Also, I gather that your name is derived from Jade from Sweetbox? Just a guess, it's been bugging me. I've been meaning to read your fics, but I couldn't find the time. I will review if not this week, then on the weekend.

Dead Pollen: Thanks for the review. I hope you don't mind me spreading the news of your new fic around, it's awsome. Zone Hassleholf, huh? Guess where I got the name. Update your fic soon!


	4. Chapter III: A Wolf And A Rose

**Roses And Wine**

_Chapter III:_ _A Rose and A Wolf_

God, she was so relieved and weak with the pleasure of being freed. She was rising and descending with the coming tide that she knew would be shattering when she reached for it and her constant shrieks and staccato moans muffled by Dwight's strong biceps assured her of that. Her pleasure-filled shrills crescendoed to a mind-diminishing pleasure-provoked nirvana where only her spent body could travel, leaving her mind to linger on the satisfied feeling she felt in her nether regions. The glass shattered and its contents spewed forth and she cried loudly, the sweat from her forehead dropping unto Dwight's nose as it came into contact with her collarbone. His mouth, opening wide with his own release, created circles on her skin just above her bare breasts and he closed his eyes languidly.

She cleaved to him, suddenly cold when the swift remnants of nirvana receded from all over her body and returned back to her womanhood. Her mind came back to earth just as her dewy arms wrapped around her nude husband's neck. She kissed it, silently asking forgiveness for ever doubting their love and whether it was on the brink of disaster or not. She ran her fingers through his wet long hair, her kisses becoming hungrier as she thought more and more about the guilt she felt. The Kramers' wedding had moved her so much, leading her to believe that her own love relationship with Dwight was an illusion that she refused to accept.

The melancholy feeling pressing down on her shoulders all day yesterday had dispersed, released with pleasure the husband she loved had given her. She smiled to herself as Dwight engulfed her slender body tightly, her breasts meshing with his hard chest.

"Lovely?" he whispered, his breath returning to normal. She could only nod, her muscles molding into jelly as she rested her cheek onto the juncture of his neck. "I'm glad we could share that before I leave." Oh, how she loved his thick Dollet accent! The way he slanted every word, rolled every 'r' was so sexually wonderful. Then, realizing that he mentioned the word, 'leave', with his soft voice, her mind hovered around his statement.

". . . What do you mean?" Quistis queried tiredly. Dwight rolled her off of his penis, gently placing her onto the pillow beside them. He pulled his sweaty back from the bedpost, and rose from the bed. Maneuvering past the formal wear on the carpeted floor that they had thrown off last night in a bloodlust haste to make love until the morning, he reached for the bathrobe resting on the wooden chair just before the cherry oak chest of drawers.

"I have an important meeting to attend to this morning, regarding the publication. . . . You know, the new magazine coming out? Yvette will come along to pick me up." He reached for the light switch beside the door, flicking it. "Didn't I tell you?"

His blond beauty lay resting soundly on the pillow, the white sheets obscuring only her ankles. Her round full breasts rose and fell softly, and the blond hair protecting her sex sunk in at the top with her convex stomach as she breathed, a slight smile on her red lips.

Her last thought was how Dwight had so much energy left after their frantic lovemaking every half an hour into the morning.

"I didn't tell you?" But she was long gone, lost in her own world of dreams. Dwight left the bedroom and headed for the shower. He'd tell her later.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

"No, you didn't," Squall shot back. He wrapped the red apron around his square torso, eying the man that sat before him on one of the stools. His eyelids drooped a bit, and Squall knew that his assistant had been drinking.

"But, Squall, I'm sure I told you that she'll be here by tomorrow at the latest," Zone explained, his words slurring slightly. But that wasn't the only indication that he was sedated with alcohol. He had addressed his superior by his first name, and that was highly unprofessional.

Squall grabbed the dry cloth to his left and began his endeavor to clean the marble desk where food and drink would have to be served in just a few hours. Just another few hours until the costumers would come pouring in from the hotel above and from the cold morning expecting a good warm breakfast and some relaxing music to get them in the mood for work. Squall's eyelids rolled, and his eyebrows ruffled with anger. Zone was in no professional position to attend to his obligations as an assistant.

"Are you going to just sit there?" Squall queried angrily. Zone jumped, a bit surprised by Squall's suddenly angry voice. It had been quiet for so long.

"No, I'll be out of your way in a few minutes, but first, I need a _stway_ answer from you," Zone spoke, poking the desk to emphasize his request. He meant to say, 'a _straight_ answer', but luckily Squall had learned quickly to comprehend the drunken Zone lingo.

"I'll tell you later. Now go," the restaurateur commanded. He disappeared into the back kitchen of the pub, anticipating the arrival of his chefs and custodians. He pressed his back against the white wall, desperately needing a fix of nicotine or a chocobo. He didn't bother to turn the lights on; there was no need to. The same old would be arranged the way he left it. Clean dishes stacked onto their holders above the island situated in the middle of the room. Pots and pans would be waiting on the stoves to be fired up for some sizzling morning meals. The extra tumblers, goblets, and shot glasses would be right in the wooden cabinets neatly stacked and clean.

Reaching into his back pocket to make sure the pack of cigarettes were still there, Squall began his stride to the sink. Now he fished for the lighter in his other pocket and made sure that it was there. Later, he'd definitely need a smoke on his break now that Zone was drunk and he'd have to work double today.

Mentally laying out his schedule, his fingers twisted the cold water knob and let it run for a few more minutes before dipping his face in it. As bookkeeper, he had to organize the financial records, calculate the bills and how much of his money would be dished out to the city, then he had to worry about the expecting agents who were only around to run a crab up his ass and 'thoroughly' check the place out and make sure that it was perfect for business when they really were trying to find a way to take his money. But, of course, that could be his paranoia talking. His employees' paychecks weren't due until another two weeks, so he didn't have to worry about that at least.

The water splashed cold relief into his sleepy face and it shocked him again. He drank some of the water, then turned it off.

"Come on, boss. Just say yes, you hear her out, then dish her off, only if you have to," Zone pressed, the last statement a whisper. Squall sighed heavily, letting the water drip into the sink, he wasn't ready to dry it off.

"Alright, yes, whatever," he yelled. "Go." This time, Zone obeyed and he left the pub to his room upstairs to sleep off the alcohol in his system. Apparently, the poor boy had despaired over the negative answers Squall had given him, and he drank it all away.

Now, finally truly alone, Squall let his thoughts bounce off of each other until that one thought came back to him. The one he'd always dismiss with another thought. But this time, it was his last thought before work began. . . .

"_I like a lot of people to be around when it opens! People'll look up to me and marvel at how wonderful my business will be!" Her slender arms would reach toward the heavens, her shawl nearly slipping from them. "They'd just love it! And since I love saki so much, I'll name it The Sadie!" she whispered. Then, when her brown hair swirled and her cinnamon eyes reached his grey-blue ones she'd smile so sweetly and say, ". . . and I want you to join me. _You'll_ love it." _

_He was only seven when she asked him to accompany her, and he enthusiastically nodded, having no inkling as to what she was talking about. But, whenever she talked about having some business, nodding would always make her content and he didn't care about anything else. _

_The years and the seasons had passed, and on one cold winter's night, she was gone, faded from time, from his life, and he cried and cried. Never able to stop the heartache that shattered a million times every time he thought of her. _

The pub had been the only way to keep her alive. Her dreams and goals had all come to a screeching halt until he decided to stop crying and do something about it. And thus, this pub was his to own to monitor and to share with his dead sister. She no longer faded, and his heart no longer shattered, it'd just crack and nearly shatter like it was doing now.

He had trained himself not to sob and be weak and helpless. He was an adult now, dammit, and nothing or no one could tell him otherwise.

"Ah, sir. I come here a bit early, and you already beat me to it, sir," the creme de la creme greeted with a cheerful disposition. Squall spun around to see a man no older than him wearing a green knitted hat in which blond hair fell under. His cheerful and sweet face was so new and youthful to Squall every time he saw him. The main chef waved his hand and made his way closer to his employer. "Well, I'd best get to work, sir." Watts Madison knew Squall was never up for conversation, so he never really pushed him into one. One day, he'd talk, Watts decided. One day.

Squall nodded, deeply wishing Zone would follow the main chef's example and learn when to close his mouth. Squall left the room when Watts finally turned the lights on and began his necessary preparations.

Once out into the brisk air of Deling City, Squall slumped down on the brick wall behind him after grasping his supplies for a quick fix. His buttocks reached the wet ground, damp with the thick mist that overtook the entirety of the back alley. The heating system within the pub had caused the fog as it extracted energy from the air, and shot back grey pollution through another tube.

He was used to the smell as it intertwined with the musky scent of cigarette, and it also calmed him. Ah, those backwater images that always swallowed him to the point where he was no longer looking at the scenery the back alley displayed.

He missed his sister, greatly. He missed the cinnamon brown strands that was always warm and flowing no matter what the weather. Her sunshine eyes smiling down upon him, and that ray of light she'd always place into his heart.

The doctors said that she was suffering from a terminal illness that they couldn't comprehend. It was a pandemic spreading across the Balambian region, and now, today's technology had been too late for Ellone. They nicknamed the disease 'the pale shadow' because first the victim would become so pale and blue and break into violent fits of coughs and wheezing, then, as if already dead, they'd become sickeningly dark until all life disintegrated.

Soldiers, just coming home from the front lines of the great battle against the Estharian government and Balamb, were the main ones who had caught the devastating disease and past it on to their family members. But Squall couldn't understand where Elle had gotten the disease from. It didn't make any sense to him at all. The worst part he remembered about the disease was that its victims didn't realize they had it until it was too late. The pandemic had been a serious problem, raising the country's morale rate beyond possible standards.

Years after Ellone's death, a cure had been concocted, and now, there were few reports of the disease, but they were only reported in small underdeveloped towns who didn't have the technology to cure the citizens, along the edge of one of Galbadia's plain. Squall couldn't remember the name, neither did he care.

"Excuse me." Squall took another puff of his cigarette and twisted his head so that his slender eyes could analyze the faint whisper that barely traveled to his ears. His left knee was propped up to support the arm that held his cigarette. His eyebrows rose, signaling for her to continue. He had heard her, but he chose not to speak. People left when he did that. "Um, is this the Sadie pub? I'm . . . kind of lost."

Her tattered gloved fingers could barely hold the three suitcases in her hands, and her small frame behind the overcoat she wore made her look frail. The wind could probably snap her into two if it was strong enough. The grey beret she wore, probably to conceal her eyes, hovered so lowly to her face and all he could see was a slender nose and pale optimistic lips, they looked frozen. Squall took another puff, analyzing the woman and getting the impression that she was a runaway, probably from a wealthy family at that, considering the trio of suitcases she clung to. It was rare to see a poor person, timid like her, to run from the only haven they knew into the cold and cruel streets of Deling. And if she had run away, she was still well off.

"What?" Squall queried, his tone low and uninterested. He surveyed her again, and in all respects, she looked like a plain and simple vagrant.

"I'm looking for the Galbadian pub, here in Deling. I spoke with a man by the name of Zone Hasselholf, and he gave me the directions and all, but I lost my way," the mysterious woman explained. She dropped a suitcase and quickly went after it. His eyes were intimidating enough and she hoped that this man before her, sipping on his cigarette as if it were the healthiest thing on earth, wasn't her employer.

Oh no, Squall dreaded. Now he knew exactly who she was. He cursed Zone. Didn't he say she was expected to arrive in the night? But still, what difference would it make? _Damn it all to hell . . . _Squall thought. He flicked the cigarette onto the ground, and stood. The woman than realized how much taller he was than her, but she stood her ground. It was an attempt to save the last pride she had in her. He probably already thought she was shy.

_Oh no,_ Squall thought again. She was the songstress Zone was ranting on about. This bum here? He was seriously debating on whether to snap his assistant's neck or to lure her away from the pub by simply shaking his head. But then, he'd have to explain his apron, and that would be too awkward. He cursed at himself.

Oh no.

"Well? Is it?" the woman asked, dropping her suitcase again.

"Squall, get your butt in here! There's a dog reeking havoc—" Zone's words were cut abruptly short when he opened the door to find Rinoa Heartilly, the singing sensation, standing before Squall who looked vexed and ready to kill. "Oh! Rinoa! And good, you've already met the manager."

Squall shot a terribly scary look at Zone, his palm slapping his forehead.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The airplane ride back from Balamb had been so swift and tranquil, and the moment Squall had stepped foot onto Galbadian territory, he knew he'd regret ever coming back. Not that he was expecting newfangled pastoral lands that was always associated with peacefulness around the pub, he did expect more refined employees who discovered, that without him, they could actually run the place by themselves. He had terribly mistaken his wishful thinking to be superior over logic.

The dog's fur before him was mangled with the dampness of the morning atmosphere outside as it panted and used its great pink tongue to kiss Squall's stoic face. It's breath, hot and potent with dog food, passed over the male's pale features and it whimpered when it didn't get the positive reaction it worked so hard for.

"Oh my!" Rinoa gasped. Her suitcases dropped and her gloved hands clamped to her opened lips. Then, realizing that the restaurateur was obviously uncomfortable with her dog pouncing on him, grabbed it by its pink collar and shoved it out of the way. She knelt down, extending a hand to him. "Are you okay?" she queried.

He was already lifting to his feet without the help of her diminutive gloved hands, but she held them out until his composure was gained again. Muddy dog prints traced up the length of his red apron, and when Rinoa met his steely eyes, she recoiled and attended to her oblivious dog.

"And that's our new mascot!" Zone stated enthusiastically. The assistant manager plucked a strand of fur from Squall's shoulder, and when he shrugged him off, Zone's eyebrows furrowed with confusion. "What's the matter, sir?"

Eying the black-haired man beside him, Squall began taking his apron off. Then, heading back into the kitchen he said, "Get them the hell out of here, now. . . ."

- - - - - - - - - - -

Quistis Brookhaven had been adopted into a very prestigious family, dwelling in a town home on Sunshine Boulevard of the northwestern country, Dollet. Her mother had always loved the accompaniment of trees and yards of grass, so her husband had settled his family of four down on the edge of Dollet's outermost city, Highland Terrace, where there were ample amounts of greenery and the houses were very beautiful and huge. Highland Terrace being just a few miles from the Dollet pacific, the area was always cool in the summer seasons, and in the fall and winter, the cold winds of the north would hit the city with brutal force.

But in the home of the Trepes, sitting by the fireplace staring at the emerald tree embellished with shiny ornaments that gleamed with the dark fires at night, made coming to Highland Terrace in the winter all worth it. Though the transcontinental trains would cease to run during the harsh winter, the only way out of the city after the holidays was through the airlines, due to the elevated possibilities of accidents during the winter.

With December being only two months away, Quistis decided to visit her family while she was in the area before the holidays. She knew they'd try to keep her with them until Christmas, but she would refuse. She didn't want another family gathering until she recovered fully from the last time she attended one. The day of Edea's wedding ceremony was already fading from her mind, it seemed that it had taken place a year ago instead of two weeks. The Trepes had attended the wedding over in the neighboring country, Balamb, and now, they were back home safely, already planning for the holidays that seemed to always include their adopted daughter.

"You are staying, aren't you?" Lara Trepe questioned, handing her daughter the lemon tea she requested.

"No, not this year. My husband and I are already making plans to visit his parents," Quistis answered, turning her body so that she could face her mother. The woman was taking a seat on the diminutive bench behind her. She brushed her auburn strands of hair from her face and took a small sip of her own tea. Her mother was indeed regal in all respects, and she reminded Quistis of Edea very much. She was tall like her caretaker and thin. But unlike Matron, she dressed with elegance and name brand clothing while Edea had a more simply style. Something like that of a . . . caretaker.

"Oh, but Quistis, that's _his_ family. Yours are right here," the woman pouted. Quistis glanced out at the damp grass outside of the white fence. The morning rain had done the grass justice, because it looked so glamourous under the grey skies, and they twinkled with the streetlights that aligned the sidewalk.

"Mother, we're married. So, they're _your_ family as well. And besides, I've spent two past Christmases with you guys, and I think it's only fair that I spend this year with them." Lara's long back straightened as if to say something, but Quistis raised a finger, halting her. "And this will be a good experience for me. It'll be my first time spending a holiday with Dwight's parents." Quistis took a seat on the outside porch's banister, placing her mug beside her. She rubbed her sweater clad shoulders, feeling a slight cold draft.

"Speaking of Dwight, how is he these days? Is he taking it easy?" Lara asked, peering at her daughter through her thin-framed glasses. Quistis turned to her, analyzing her mother's brown eyes. It made her think of just how different Lara looked from her. Quistis' bright features of blond hair and blue eyes contradicted any thought that she was exactly related to Lara and her dark features. Even her father, Neil Trepe, had dark features and not to mention their son. When she was first adopted by the family, she had felt a bit detached from them, but as with age, she grew out of it and learned that they loved her no matter what she looked like.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Quistis queried, a slight smile creasing her thin lips. Her socked feet swung slowly.

"What?" her mother said as if surprised that Quistis caught her staring at her. "I just want an honest answer."

"Well, he's doing well. He couldn't come because of some meeting. Their finally finalizing the publication of his magazine," the blond answered. She now looked through the window of Lara's home, spotting the dining room table and her father walking in and out of the kitchen. Dinner was about to initiate soon.

"Which magazine?" Lara asked.

"Traveler's edition. You remember? It'll feature the pictures he took of Dollet's landscape," Quistis answered, her tone flat. Apparently, her mother had identified the flatness of her words and commented.

"Are you still sore about that? Come on Quistis, don't you think Dollet's beauty is way more artistic and eccentric than Balamb? It'd definitely attract tourists, and with the pictures Dwight took, which I know will be breathtaking, I wouldn't be surprised if the population would become incalculable."

"Yes, yes. A Dollet lover like you would say such a thing," Quistis spoke with a laugh.

"Well, at least he's not popping photos of those darn models. I find it atrocious, the way they flaunt themselves without caring for their own decency," Lara said, waving her hand as if dismissing a model right before her.

"He _is_ a prominent photographer, you know." Quistis explained. "Of course those type of agencies would be delighted to hire him. . . . Anyway, off of my husband's job, what about mine, mother? I still haven't gotten it off of the ground yet."

"Oh," Lara said, swallowing the remainder of her hot tea, "that's only writer's block. You'll come out of it soon enough."

"I hope so," Quistis answered. Not long before her words left her mouth, Neil yelled through the dining room, announcing that dinner was about to be served. So the women left from the porch and joined the man of the house for dinner. There would be much to talk about.


	5. Chapter IV: Time and Again

**Roses and Wine**

_Chapter IV: Time and Again_

"So . . . where is he? He's postponed his counseling for far too long."

The old man grunted with apparent disapproval. He shifted in his leather recliner as if pained by the reports he had received. His thick lips tightened until they released with another grunt, and then an inaudible comment. _Dammit._ There were so many other imperative issues that needed attention but none compared to the one he was looking at now. He was lost again and he did not like it. The feeling was so foreign to him, and this cursed report had evoked it out of him.

"Sir?" The woman stepped forward, but only a bit. Her azure eyes encased within golden glasses shifted to her employer's unkempt desk, then traveled to the manila folder which housed the object that made the old man so disgruntled. He had heard her the first time, but he couldn't answer. He didn't know where to begin to explain what had happened, so instead, he started from the beginning.

"There was a call within Uptown Galbadia yesterday at 4:00, just before the bombing," the old man began explaining, he gripped the report tighter. His tone was subdued, almost as if he were sulking in his own regret. The woman analyzed his furrowed eyebrows as he paused, thought for a moment, then continued. Yeah, he was definitely sulking and cursing himself. ". . . Vinzer Deling had a meeting scheduled at the State Building, regarding the political ties between Timber and Galbadia—"

"—Yes, luckily he was in the west wing of the building during the bombing. By the way, we've apprehended the trio of extremists and they've ad—" The old man held up a ruffled aged hand, ceasing her unwanted comment. He shifted in his black recliner again. The material crackled as he did so.

"A few miles away right before the bombing, there was a shooting, killing one of Timber's Representatives. She was making her way to the meeting as well, and she was running a few minutes behind schedule, but a black van had supposedly sided with her car and she was shot multiple times in the chest and head." The female secretary gasped at the report, holding her clipboard tightly. A bit annoyed by her outward response, Chief Dag Alexander paused again. He sighed, and that was enough to convey to his secretary that he wanted to finish what he was explaining without interruption. She nodded almost submissively and he continued. "Of course, she died instantly, and the murderers got away. . . . The bullet shells they left behind were analyzed and were later classified as the remnants of one of those ancient weapons . . . I forget what it is they call 'em."

"The gunblade?" the secretary answered. He nodded instantly, pointing to her.

"Yeah, the gunblade. Obviously, they were amateurs. Know why? Because the whole crime scene was messy, there was just a line of evidence everywhere and the fact that they were using such a weapon that would leave such evidence told a lot. You know, today's technology in weaponry won't leave not one single trace." The woman nodded, her eyes drawing back to her clipboard. Looking at it reminded her of why she was here; she had to ask Chief Alexander of his latest dispatched soldier, but he was getting to the point where he would answer her now, so she waited before speaking again. "Anyway, so the forensic department matched the same bullet shells to a crime a few months back regarding a Dollet Representative, and the shell matches were direct. This coming together now?"

She was taken aback by his query. It was as if he were testing her comprehension skills, but she knew the chief far too well for him to be questioning her like that. His point was about to be made, so she decided to indulge him.

"You're saying that they were the same murderers who killed Mr. Adam Glen of Dollet? But what's that got to do with the soldier you dispatched?" she finally asked. He closed his eyes, eyebrows furrowing again. He raised a hand.

"Wait a minute. . . . The same people who took Dollet's representative's life were the same who murdered Timber's representative."

"How can you be sure?" the secretary asked. She watched the floor, knowing he didn't appreciate her interruptions.

"Well, they were the same brand of bullets, used for the same weapon, the crime happened the same exact way, and the victim was shot in the same areas exactly seventeen times just like yesterdays' incident. . . . The killers were never caught, as if they just vanished off the face of the earth as before. . . . How could they do that especially if they were just amateurs? Coming together even more?"

"No, not really," the secretary admitted. He chuckled, folded his stubby hands together and leaned forward.

"There's a crime lord involved. He's helping these shit-heads deal with his dirty work and the fact that they're amateurs will throw the average person off. . . . But there's more, to those educated in the crime field it seems this guy's seriously warning the Galbadian government. Those past representatives . . . killing them in the same manner means something, and we're going to find out. Something serious is going down and those murdered representatives seem to have a tie to it all."

"So you send an incompetent person to investigate?" she questioned, flailing an arm toward the door as if the person in question was waiting beyond it. He shook his head, sliding back further into his chair. He tossed a manila folder that lay under a few other papers unto the outer regions of his desk.

"He's not incompetent, just reckless and arrogant," the old man responded. "Take a look at that." The woman did as she was told and lifted the papers. It was a full report of the so-called reckless and arrogant newly recruited rookie. She raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"A dossier?" she asked. He nodded.

"I didn't realize that he once belonged to one of the top gang to date until I actually sat down and read it thoroughly. . . . Whoo-whee, and you would never think you're hiring one. . . ." The old man closed his eyes and brought it toward the ceiling. "And it gets better, he was eager to take up the investigation when he was informed about it. Why do you suppose?"

"Because he's nothing but a glory seeker. He's gonna' mess this one up just like the last. I don't mean to question your reasoning, but what are you expecting him to do with this case?" The old man chuckled once more, his position remained relaxed.

"Exactly what he wants to do, and no, not because he seeks glory, but because the guys he used to work for are the same guys that had killed those representatives. It all came to me when I looked at that report. It isn't like him to just jump for his chance to enter investigations. No, this one is big for him. . . . I'm guessing that he was the top man himself way back when, and I suppose these were the guys that had taught him the ropes . . . meaning, Seifer may know how these men work and think. . . . He may have an inkling as to why the gang operates the way they do. But the thought of him betraying us and his duties again is fucking up my nerves. . . . I know I shouldn't have sent him out there, but he's a good kid and he gets the job done, even if we lose money because of it." The chief coughed, ran his fingers through the shock of white hair atop his head.

"So then, I won't be speaking with him any time soon, huh?" The chief only shrugged.

"Taylor, I want you to go home tonight and read the report. Look at his prison records, his early life, and his present life, then come back to me. You'll understand why I regret sending him and why I don't."

- - - - - - - - - -

It was true, the streets of Galbadia surely had made him a little more heartless at best. When he was roaming the streets as but a lost child nothing was more important to him but the roads he chose and walked and himself. But now, he cared nothing for Galbadia, The City of his Birth, and "The City he would Die In", so his older brother had told him. All of his life, he had been taught to appreciate what fate had left him with and to use it in a way that would benefit him and the family he had been born into. He was too young to realize the true morals behind the proverb, and he was sure that even today, its full effects were still unknown to him.

His ethics had changed from his childhood and he began to believe that whatever the force may be that governed the events that would take place in his life, he could alter it to his liking. Fate and Destiny was just a word—a term used to coerce others to believe that they couldn't set the goals and paths in their lives because it was already preordained. It was just an easy way out from the harsh reality that your actions could cause your downfall or your rise and that it all fell on your shoulders. _You_ ultimately made the choices in your life, no one else. It was the Burden of Life that he accepted until he branched off and was truly on his own.

Now, he didn't care so much for Fate nor the Burden of Life. His life was his and he would live it one day at a time. He wouldn't think too much into the future and he would never go back to his past. Everything he did was for that moment alone. But, he knew he would change again, but until that day, he would believe in just living for the sake of living.

"Man . . ." Seifer thought aloud. He hit the brakes at the stoplight, examining the sleeping child beside him. The young girl's chest rose and fell in slow and relaxed movements. Her brunette head rested at the window and her arms were folded to her. They'd arrive to her home in another half hour, then she could go to her bedroom and rest comfortably.

After tonight, this would be the last time he'd see her in a while. He had a feeling that she could sense it because she had been distant since the drive from school and tennis practice. She didn't want to talk, but that came to a relief for him. She didn't look at him, nor fuss about changing the radio station in the car. She simply closed her eyes, fell asleep, and awaited her stop. Yeah, he'd miss her a little, but he wasn't saying farewell to her. They'd see each other again for sure.

At the green light, he brought the four-door sedan along the bend in the darkening road. Right about now, the girl would comment on the neon city lights as they began to blink on in variations of the colors red and orange below at the edge of the underpass. The city was awakening, but she chose to miss it today. He wasn't going to bother her, not only because he felt solitude when she was asleep but also to keep the thought of him leaving in both their minds. Turning to her again for a brief glance, he chuckled just a bit. She reminded him of someone he once knew before. The person acted in the same manner towards everyone, and he'd always tease him for that.

A slight vibration resounded in his black pant pocket. He waited for the vibration to occur again. His cell phone was ringing. Fishing through his pocket with his left arm, his right maintained its position on the wheel.

"Yeah, what is it Taylor?" Seifer queried into the phone. He sighed.

"I heard you got the job. Why didn't you just let someone else handle it," she asked. A news program could be heard in the background of Taylor's apartment. "I know you're going to screw it up." He sighed again and removed the phone from his ear. Flipping it, he threw it into the back seat where he couldn't reach it when it rang again.

". . . Shut up," he whispered to no one. She didn't have to concern herself with his affairs and he knew he told her that more than once. But, as with all women who had a thing for him, they ignored his independence and continued to pretend like they cared for his well-being when in reality they didn't want him to get hurt just so they could be with him. They were selfish all the same.

- - - - - - - - - -

Jayden was a bit groggy when she realized that the car had come to a complete stop. Yellow lights beamed out at her, and when her eyes opened slightly bigger, a full view of her home snapped into place. She had arrived to her destination, her time with Seifer was gone. A bit disoriented, Jayden looked around for a bit and found that Seifer was standing just outside the car's window, giving her his back. If she didn't know any better, she'd imagine that he was staring into the closed door of the house, awaiting for her to come out of her slumber and assist him toward her home. Immediately unbuckling herself, she opened the door and stepped unto the ground.

Seifer didn't look at her when he addressed her. "You ready?"

Ready? Was she ready? Of course not, she was losing her brother, they were being dragged further and further away from each other, something neither of them wanted to admit.

Simply nodding her tired head, she walked with Seifer to the front door of her home. After ringing the bell, it opened.

"Thank you, Seifer," the older brunette greeted. Her face wasn't in the least bit surprised, it was solemn and knowing, her brown eyes piercing into him. Jayden waved to her uncle and receded further into the home. The woman watched her daughter leave, then she turned back to the blond man at her door. "So then, this is it?"

He nodded.

"Are you coming back?"

"When everything's settled," he replied, his tone emotionless. The woman nodded.

"You never could let anything go." She was just about to shut the door, but he began to speak.

"And you always could. . . ." They smiled a nostalgic smile and parted.

He wouldn't return home, not when things were unsettled. Jayden would have to wait as well as her mother. He had attained a conciliate mission, something that would plunge him back to the past, where each morning he'd awaken from a dream that had transported him to such. He'd have to face familiar faces again and this time, he wouldn't hesitate to kill them.

He'd know freedom once they all were wiped out.

Something he had dreamed of time and again.


	6. Chapter V: Blue Shadow

**Roses and Wine**

_Chapter V: Blue Shadow_

Like sheet music left bare and blank, with no imaginative lyrics bound to its pages, the perfectly square bedroom left Rinoa feeling hollow and alone, more so than the memories of her past. The walls were a typical white, the same went for the ceiling, the deep fissure in the corner the only thing showing dark depth. A single bed lay nestled beside the blank walls and this was all she had to call her home. But, she was grateful. Grateful that she no longer had to hear the words of the tyrant that had run her life for far too long. And she would show just how thankful she was through her voice.

She had a new song that she wanted to share to the audience tonight, and not even Squall would have any reason to be disappointed. The melody sounded as if she were longing and even urging her heart to feel things it had long forgotten. It was a song she had composed and written herself, and Rinoa knew they would like it. She wouldn't let her manager down, and she certainly wouldn't let the restaurateur intimidate her.

Grinning, as if she had some magnificent, meticulous plan up her sleeves, Rinoa began to unpack her belongings, lining them on her bare bed. Her arms became akimbo as she wrestled with the thought of wearing a midnight blue gown for a stunning and garish appearance or something more subtle as a black and sleek dress. Almost automatically, she went with the black outfit, suddenly realizing that wearing a princess attire on her first appearance would mean unnecessary boldness and that would surely set her against the crowd. She had to remember, that here, with the common folk one must always blend in to get along.

She had always been raised to appreciate her wealth and worth, and by flaunting it and demonstrating to others that the Carraway last name could take you far, like her father wanted, she understood the demeanor of the rich: highly unsophisticated people who constantly hungered to be superior, even if it meant going against your daughter or her mother.

Now, her last name was more pleasant.

Heartilly.

Rinoa flopped onto the floor, rustling in her briefcase until she felt something unfamiliar. Something was pricking her, and when she brought it into view, it was only a toothbrush. Sighing, she delicately situated it on the beige rug.

An image came to her mind. There were these piercing blue-gray eyes that told her so much about a harsh past, and from there she saw a slender nose and lips that were so appealing to her, so sensual. And that defining scar that ran across the bridge of nose added even more mystery. His hair was cinnamon, a pale brown tint to them, and his facial structure was so masculine and stoical.

She wondered why Squall looked that way, as if he knew nothing of smiling and greeting a person properly. It infuriated her that he had been such a . . . meany an hour ago downstairs, but then his kindness came through and he allowed Zone to hire her as the new songstress of the Sadie Pub. Just in that short moment, a small even insignificant event that she would remember forever, because with eyes like Squall's, grave and analyzing, benignancy was nonexistent.

Her golden wristwatch read 6 p.m., soon she'd have to prepare for her debut, and before that, Zone would be by to run a few rules and regulations by her as well for her contract-signing. Her life, one of hardship and hateful people was going to change, and possibly, for good.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Neil Trepe came through the living room with another figure behind his shoulder. Quistis' blue eyes quickly lit up at the familiar face she hadn't seen for nearly two months, and they soon embraced, whispering into each other's ears how much they had missed each other, and how many stories that needed to be shared. Their father joined in the embrace, his smile stretching his old cheeks backward.

"Glad to have you here, son. Just in time for dinner too!" The three took their seats around the diminutive square table, Lara kissing her son and then taking her own seat. The regal woman lifted her silver fork and spoon and began slicing her cockatrice meat. Everyone seemed to follow suit.

"Dad told me you were coming to visit, so I packed my things and boarded the plane, Quisty," Neil Trepe, Jr. spoke. Quistis glanced at her foster father with surprise that soon melted into love and appreciation.

"Oh, and I thank you for coming here, all the way from Esthar for me," the blond woman said and then she took a bite of her mashed potatoes. Lara took the opportunity to speak.

"Yes, which reminds me, Junior," she turned to her son, clearing her throat, "will you be staying for the holidays?" He hesitated to answer, and this prompted a response from his mother. "Oh, come now! Surely, you're not _that_ strapped for time."

"Journalism has its disadvantages and inconveniences, mother," Junior answered and his father laughed.

"Don't encourage him, darling," Lara said to Neil. He had an amused look on his face, while his wife's was serious and severe so he opted to calm and quell her growing anger and disappointment.

"Why don't we do something different this holiday," Neil spoke, his children open to the idea. But, Lara, of course was already objecting. He could tell by the way she wouldn't look at him. Being married to her merited such analysis. "I say we have our Christmas early this year. December's not even here yet, so I'm sure you children can fit something into your schedule."

"But I hate to break tradition, Neil. You know that," the mother brooded. She dropped her fork into the dish.

"Mom, you can't have everything," Junior stepped in. He looked to Quistis as if for support, but she shrugged, unsure what to do. Lara was always like this around the holidays, so insecure when it came to her darlings. And her behavior was the result of her own mother passing away around this time from a train wreck when she was but a teenager. No one knew how to deal with it, really. So Quistis always had convenient excuses for holidays she didn't wish to spend with her family. And those holidays were always spent with her husband.

"Neil, darling, say something to him. He's getting fresh," she exclaimed. Neil Senior swallowed his food, irritation flashing in his dark eyes. Junior faced his mother.

"Mom, I'm just saying. I have a life as well, and I can't be in two places at once," he explained, his tone still low and calm.

"I'm not asking you to do the impossible." Lara dabbed the corners of her lips with the white napkin and the table fell silent. The small cottage-like house appeared to have lost some of its homely warmth Quistis was so familiar with. Neil seemed to have picked up on it as well as he began to hum a little tune from her childhood, a tune their mother always sang to them whenever they were sad or angry. Her brother touched his sister's hand and she instantly joined in, signaling for her unaware father to join in as well.

The frustration of her attempts to unite the family dissipated from Lara's features and she sang as well, her voice the most lovely.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The customers, seated about the pub, drinking and enjoying their dinner, seemed not to notice that the usual background music at the stage was absent. Squall figured the many rock bands, orchestral bands, jazz bands, singers and songstresses that had visited the pub had sucked so badly that his clients felt relieved of the silence and perhaps if they said anything, Zone would ruin it. Again, the restaurateur felt his dread returning to the pit of his stomach. The audience would be greatly disappointed when another poorly-Zone-approved woman came to disrupt that silence.

Buffing every table that was unoccupied, Squall shook his head to shove from his mind what he knew was coming and what he expected wouldn't be pretty. Booing was going to be the least of Rinoa's worries. There would be drunkards tonights, and if her music prompted poor reception, they'd start throwing things and everything would get out of hand . . . again, just like before. And this time, he'd have to fire Zone.

"Sir?" Squall turned to the voice beside him and realized that Zone was the figure hovering around him. His appearance to told Squall everything. She was ready to debut. The pathetic and probably rich girl who had disrupted his peace would have her chance to display her skill in front of a harsh Delingite crowd. "Rinoa has signed her temporary contract and she's ready to perform. Just give me the go, okay?"

Squall simply nodded, and Zone was thankful for his unexpected kindness to allow him to redeem himself from his past failures. And he'd do just that, with Rinoa. Squall's assistant/musical manager, pointed at the far end of the pub, near the exit, where a spiraling staircase led up to black high-heeled sandals, its velvet laces encircling two slender and porcelain calves. Further up, a curvaceous young woman stood waiting to be introduced. The black dress she wore, nearly obscured by the dark setting of the pub, hugged every inch of her petite body. She stepped down one glass step and her black river of glistening hair came into view. A few light-brown highlights streaked around her head, and that was the only thing that looked plain on her.

Her lips, so crimson and inviting. Her warm dark eyes, so large and cheerful. Her entire face, so angelic, cute and . . . captivating.

"Sir!" Zone said, shaking his boss' shoulder slightly. The man turned to him. "There she is," he informed, though the girl was so obvious to him. "Isn't she just beautiful."

"Make her perform," Squall commanded subtlety. He walked away, finding something else to occupy himself with. He took one last glance at her after Zone came to the stage and introduced the songstress. A few clapped and then the room fell silent when the girl walked to the white piano at the corner of the stage. Goblets and glasses clicked and clacked as she took her seat. Squall noticed that she didn't look nervous, perhaps because she was used to this type of gig. That gave him a bit of relief, knowing that her appearance was exceptionally different from the others.

And Zone was right. She _was_ beautiful.

Rinoa cleared her throat, closed her eyes and prayed. _Please, Squall. Everyone! Like me!_

Her thin lips parted and a mellow and strong note spewed from them.

"On a cold night, a blue shadow rises on a peaceful moon calling out into the night," she sang, her fingers moving about the clean and polished keyboard of the piano.

Something happened. Squall felt his heart flutter, only slightly and shortly. He walked into the kitchen to wet his dry rag again.

"I put away the cruel love deep inside my heart. If I could only grasp your outstretched arms. . . . If my wings of freedom are cut off, I will just struggle forth until love has ended." The ballad shifted into a piano solo and here, her eyes wandered out into the black space where the audience sat. She tried to find Squall, but the bright light of the stage was hiding him. She wondered if he was listening to her, to her lyrics.

The song was coming to a close, and she chose to sang the last of the lyrics in Timberan, the last country she had been to together with her mother.

"_And so it was later, as the Miler told his tale, that her face at first just ghostly, turned a whiter shade of pale,_" she sang, her eyes closing and her fingers vigorously pressing the keys as if to emphasize the climax.

Squall felt a pang at his stomach, at his heart. He understood what she was singing, Matron had been fluent in many languages, one of them being Timberan and she had taught her children how to speak it. His mind went back to that moment, back to his sister as she was dying.

The pale shadow disease. The epidemic that ripped her from him. He was remembering and Rinoa somehow knew of Ellone in her song.

"Turned a whiter . . . shade of . . . pale." Her voice faded and her fingers concluded the song with a single solemn chord. The stage darkened and at last, she saw the audience. Her eyes caught Squall as he stormed from the pub, his right hand grasping his scalp. She frowned slightly and the audience applauded and even cheered.

Rinoa felt happy that her voice prompted such a response, but perhaps Squall didn't feel the same way.

* * *

**Notes:** Wow! Haven't been writing this fic for a while, due to high school and all! But, as a reward, I wrote this chapter the same day I got out! I am a senior now!! Yay!! Anyway, I've made a minor change in the story, I'm so sorry! The pub was originally meant to be called Siggees', but I've changed it to Sadie and that change will show up soon! I'm sorry if I may have confused anyone!

The song I used in this fic is called Blue Shadow by Angela aki, and I will be using her songs as models for Rinoa's songs. I may even create one of my own... I don't own them!!


	7. Chapter VI: Old Friend

**Roses and Wine**

_Chapter VI: Old Friend_

The late night air was palpable and still, too still almost. In his years of living in Deling, the nights particularly were never like this. The very air would always flow with excited electricity. Honking cars, people yelling and laughing, just the general bustle of the city alive at night. But he knew why Deling was this way: his ears were ignoring the sounds around him, they were only focused on that last line of lyric Rinoa had sang, that was all he was interested in.

The song was titled Blue Shadow and when he had acknowledged it, Ellone and her disease had never even crossed his mind, not even an inkling. He knew that he hadn't left his sister's dying face in his past so long ago, it had followed him into adulthood, and somehow, he felt comforted by it. Though his sister, whose eyes were so warm and brown as if the sun itself, was laying cold in her grave, that image, her stoic and parched lips and her closed eyelids stood frozen in his memories. He would never forget the golden rays of the outside that leaked into her room, how it contrasted dramatically against her blanched face and how he had held her fragile and weak hand where his own tears fell.

Ellone was gone physically, but mentally, within the twisted memories of a past he endeavored to rid himself of, she lived on. Staring at him through her closed lids, burning into his soul, his heart and he knew that if she could still speak, she'd be asking him why he clung to her so.

She wanted to rest and he wouldn't allow her to. Squall didn't want to, no he _feared_ letting that dying memory fade because as she left from his world, her face had been the most peaceful, so vividly content. She hadn't been smiling, not even the slightest grin, but he knew. He _felt_ it and he wanted only to remember that.

Slumping to the ground, Squall felt the suffocating diesel atmosphere about him and the uncomfortable feeling brought his mind back to the present, away from his mental dark corners. He breathed in slowly, cursing himself for not taking a cigarette with him. Ellone would have hated the person her sweet younger brother was now. Smoking himself to death, probably just to join her sooner.

Someone just outside of the black alley Squall was hiding in was yelling for his girlfriend to slow down. Apparently they had just had a fight from the way the male kept apologizing to her as if she were the last companion he'd ever get. True, Deling was a noisy nightly town, but Squall felt comforted by it. Here, no one knew him and the ordeal he gone through. Here, Deling was rowdy, so loud that no one could hear or give a damn about his thoughts.

"Um, sir . . . ?" Zone came from the threshold of the pub's back door, his looks one of concern. He knelt beside Squall as if to peer into the restaurateur's head. The yellow and orange blinking streetlights still wasn't enough to illuminate the narrow alleyway, only to see the outline of someone's figure. "I've closed shop for you," Zone informed softly. Had Squall been thinking outside that long? Usually when Zone took charge of clearing and closing the shop, turning the chairs alone would take him an half hour. ". . . The songstress, Rinoa," Zone paused, expecting Squall to say something, but as usual he was silent. He wasn't even sure if his boss was listening to him. "She's gone to her room. . . . Um, why don't you come inside?" Squall's assistant really wanted to ask about Rinoa's dog whom she had proclaimed her name to be Angelo and where exactly was it going to stay, but seeing as the restaurateur just wanted to be left alone, he averted his question to one of pure concern. This was the first time he had experienced Squall's weird behavior.

"Whatever," Squall replied. And after a few more seconds, he turned to see if Zone was gone, but the fool of an assistant was still staring. "Are you done?" Shaking his head and blinking his eyes furiously, Zone stood, said his goodnight and left.

If his boss were sitting in the light, Zone knew he'd look weak and listless. But why? Had he found Rinoa's performance _that_ unpleasant? The assistant sighed before flicking off the lights of the pub.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

There was a place Seifer hadn't visited for quite some time in Galbadia, since his supposed falling out with his brother a few months ago. It was located in a discreet part of town, where no one dared to venture particularly for the crime rate that exceeded even the most notorious of cities' crime charts. Though North Deling looked deserted in that most if not all the buildings were rundown and badly deteriorated, and the stores and shops just as badly torn down, only an inexperienced and foreign person would think that no one existed here. Coming into North Deling from the east where the infamous mall complex resided, travelers were usually confronted by the cool and mild breeze of the ocean a few miles away, but this simple attribute went ignored when it came to the 'Dirty North' some called it, not even the police department took emergency calls seriously here, they had enough to worry about in the West.

But Seifer liked it here, this place suited him best. No, he didn't think of himself as run-down and ugly, he was a little respectable than that. The town possessed a past that was somewhat parallel to his only in reverse, its history stretching from a rich, clean, and appreciated land to a practically demolished and forgotten piece of shit.

When he was kid, his parents had died, from what, he was too young to remember, and since then he had been going from door-to-door, accepted into any home that didn't find him repulsive until he was old enough to roam the streets on his own. Yeah, he had been a pile of shit back then, having no goal or purpose. Hell, he still didn't have those things. A few years later, he had come into contact with the underworld, into a game of crime, women, and corruption, and it took the death of one of his closest friends to make him realize that he had to wake up and realize the world he had adapted wasn't his, wasn't for him. And he left. His history ran alongside the North Deling's and he could only hope that he'd be rich, clean, and appreciated in the future, just as the Dirty North had been.

Turning into another deserted avenue, Seifer realized just how gloomy the town had appeared since the last time he was here. Everything seemed to be caught in gray and sepia, even as the moon shot down its silver light. The blond slowed down his sedan slightly, ignoring the ringing phone at his side. He knew it was Taylor again. Shit, didn't she ever give it a rest? He was tired of her trite and meaningless counseling that Chief _Fag_ had suggested. They only wanted to delve into the mind of Seifer Almasy and he just as well as Taylor knew counseling would get them nowhere. He began to just skip right over his time with Taylor, just to get away and now that he thought on it, he hadn't attended in nearly a month.

Seifer parked his Sedan in the vacant parking lot where he was sure that some time ago, grass and few trees had been aligning the outskirts of the parking lot. Placing his sunglasses atop the bridge of his slender nose, the blond walked over to the shaggy apartment building a few feet from the lot. He passed the awning and strolled directly inside, stopping at the base of the stairs. Inside, the complex was extremely hot, even unbearable and he wondered why, since the outside was considerably cooler. Summer had long since passed.

The wooden and deteriorated stairs spiraled up to the top floor, but he only walked up until he reached apartment door number fifty-one. Knocking, Seifer analyzed his surroundings noticing a single window at the end of the hallway. The glass was foggy from years of poor maintenance.

"Fuck off," the male voice on the other side of the door said. It was barely above a whisper, but Seifer heard it. Grinning, he replied,

"Only if you got a sister."

"And if I do?" the male asked.

"Then let me in." As if it were a serious command, the man on the other side opened the door and it squeaked and cracked. Seifer walked in and the man shut the door.

"What's the shades for, ya' know?" he asked as the blond before him turned around. The robust figure of Raijin came into his view, and he was confronted with a sense of familiarity. His enormous chest quivered as his dark lips curved into a laugh. A huge and muscular arm struck Seifer's shoulder as Raijin cordially patted it, his black eyes gleaming with joy. He was known only as Raijin, having no last name and no ties to any family. Feared by many, primarily because of his behemoth build and stoic face.

"How're you holdin' up?" Seifer asked as his friend ushered him to take a seat at the table to the corner of the apartment. He switched on a lamp at the other end of the room and the apartment was filled with a dull orange glow. A bed was positioned near the only slender view into the outside at the right and the shades were closed shut.

"Ducking every time I leave, it ain't _that_ bad," Raijin replied softly, taking his seat across from his friend. He looked at him, analyzing his every feature. His eyes, clouded with remembrance, pity, and pure anger shined emerald clear at Raijin, though they were focused on the surface of the ashen table. A single metal cigarette tray lay to the edge. "You haven't changed one bit," Raijin commented, watching as Seifer removed his black jacket. "How's that job of yours?"

"Might as well call it bounty hunting," Seifer replied, slightly slouching his chair.

"What, you going after big money?"

"I'm tracking down an accomplice. Not exactly a big case either," Seifer explained to which Raijin nodded.

"An accomplice of some one rich then?" Seifer inclined his head in agreement. He leaned into the table, his eyes now intense. Raijin knew that look and it always meant he was going to ask something drastic. Either that, or he was planning something impossible.

"I need your help, Raijin," Seifer spoke softly, "and those bastards back at the division can't supply it. . . ." His huge friend was listening intently, though Seifer knew he was unsure and perhaps even unwilling to go through with whatever he had up his sleeve. Raijin had become so reluctant where he would otherwise volitionally help a friend in need and then some. He had changed so much since the death of the other who had completed their trio, but the blond couldn't blame him. Those two had always been close. _They _had always been close.

"Not much I can do when I'm on the run, ya' know?" he said indignantly and Seifer backed away slightly. His past had left so much turmoil and damage in his future and he wasn't sure if when he finally destroyed the link that connected him to his past what was damaged could be restored to the way it had been.

"Just one favor, Rai," Seifer said simply. His friend fell silent. "I need my gunblade. I need Hyperion," he informed. Raijin didn't seem surprised, his dark eyes lit with expectancy. Having possession of a weapon Seifer vowed to never touch again and then him asking again, Raijin had always anticipated this moment, ever since his friend asked him to keep it safe for him.

Standing, the robust man sighed and walked to the left side of his bed where stood the door of the closed closet. He opened the wooden obstruction halfway and turned back to Seifer.

"Why not a more high tech weapon from the police division? You won't win with it, ya' know." Raijin didn't sound concerned and he had good reason to be. Everything, him being on the run, him fearing for his life, living in such a run-down town could be blamed on Seifer. As strong as Raijin was, something like this could always hurt a soul and perhaps even sever a friendship.

"He killed _her_ with one," Seifer reminded Raijin and the tall man nodded as if regretting he even questioned Seifer.

Inside, the closet was empty for all of Raijin's belongings were either scattered atop his bed or obscured within his duffel bag on the floor. Seifer stood, peering into the dark closet as Raijin pulled out the object they both sought. An ebony sheath, broad and long enough for the perfect fit of a gunblade jutted into view as Raijin removed it from the black confines of the closet. He brought it to the table and stepped back, allowing for his friend to reveal the weapon.

The blond rubbed his chiseled chin, his head tilting as if in deep thought. He swung to Raijin behind him.

"It's got a scratch on it," he said with no emotion. Raijin gave him a weak smile, appreciating Seifer's attempt to make light of a truly solemn situation. The blond faced his sheathed weapon and unlocked the silver clasps that denied entrance. When he lifted the lid, a soft glimmer of gunmetal tweaked in Seifer's green eyes.

He first noticed the narrow and sharp blade that curved just at the tip and at the base rested the seven chambers of a silver gun where the blade melded. The trigger was positioned just underneath the cock of the gun. Unconsciously grinning, Seifer traced one gloved finger over the leather and black hilt, lightly running against the ridges where he would grip the handle of the weapon, _his_ gunblade.

Lifting it with both hands, Seifer let the blade of his crossed weapon protrude toward the ceiling. His right hand naturally found its way to the leather grip and with his left hand, he rotated the gunblade's chamber and found that one bullet had been used and six remained, just as he had left it. That single missing bullet caused his friend her life.

"Still good with it, I see, ya' know?" Raijin said, bringing Seifer's mind from his memories. Seifer ripped the air with his weapon, his friend backing away reflexively. He was ready for serious business. "Where you gonna' find some more bullets? I doubt anyone makes them anymore, ya' know?"

"I know where," Seifer simply replied lowly. He averted his eyes from Raijin, placing the safe back onto his weapon and putting it back in its resting place. He locked the sheath and shouldered the enormous, and truly incredible but outdated weapon.

Raijin knew that this was the part where the ex-dark knight would leave to seek a score he now had the courage to settle, and the blond did just that. Raijin pulled the man into an embrace, fearing that if he didn't see him off properly, he wouldn't see him ever again.

"Get that bastard, and avenge her, ya' know?" Raijin whispered as they parted.

"You're welcomed to risk your life with me. . . ." Seifer said but Raijin was shaking his head, a nostalgic smile creasing his dark features.

"I'm already doin' that, ya' know," he replied, spreading his arms vertically. Seifer opened the apartment door. "Keep our password in your head, never know when you might have to come back, ya' know?" The blond nodded and descended the spiraling stairs. When he was long gone, Raijin slammed his door, took a cigarette from his duffel bag and puffed on it.

He hated Seifer. Hated the way he was able to live his life on the topside of the world, not having to live in this crummy place for how long only Hyne knew. He was just as much responsible for her death as the actual murderer, but why did Raijin have to suffer for him? Sitting down, the robust male buried his half finished cigarette in the ash tray.

Even though he felt angered and contempt toward Seifer, somehow, what had happened tonight and what surely _would_ take place in the future gave him peace of mind.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Angelo whimpered as Rinoa passed its coalesce of brown and black fur. Perhaps it picked up on how she was feeling inside. She remembered reading somewhere that dogs had that eerie and adept sense of awareness to their human companion's feelings and health status, even if they didn't realize it themselves. But Rinoa was very in tuned with her body, and she knew exactly why she was sighing and frowning into the mirror.

Squall, the manager guy, didn't like it. He probably—no, she knew—that he hated her debut. The way he had stormed from her performance tonight meant only one thing in her eyes. But she wondered why he felt such a way about her song. She had written it herself and her inspiration had come from a couple who had visited the local park frequently and after only a week, they were never seen together again. It was always the male walking by himself, or the female walking with different partners each time, and Rinoa imagined how that woman's ex-boyfriend or fiancée or whatever he was must have felt. So she wrote, and it was completed, she loved the outcome of it. But her thoughts and efforts wasn't important to Zone's boss. He was interested in her voice and her appeal to the audience, and even now, she could barely remember if the customers had been applauding or booing.

Turning the faucet so that cold water ran from it, Rinoa dipped her toothbrush into the porcelain sink, applied her favorite minty toothpaste to it, and shoved it into her mouth. She glanced at Angelo and remembered that Zone promised he would get Squall to except the dog and have it live with her. He had announced how loyal and obedient it was when it came to its owner and he had said that right before assuring her that Squall's disheartening stunt had absolutely nothing to do with her performance, but she had a hard time trying to believe that.

Rinoa reached to the farthest in her mouth with her toothbrush, her head inching closer to the square mirror where yellow light bulbs aligned its edges. Her black hair had been tied up in a sloppy bun; she was never good at styling her hair, and that was why she just let it hang during her performance. Rinoa's nursemaid was very accustomed to pampering her and her hair particularly, and she'd always comment on how it felt like she was always fixing up a princess. What she meant was that dressing and bathing and preparing her nursling's hair was so tedious, an attribute only credited to princesses of the highest court.

Rinoa was far from a princess, and her memories of her nursemaid and her life before she had run away was supposed to be far from her mind by now. Spitting the toothpaste out and rinsing her mouth with cold water, Rinoa made her mind focus on the issue at hand. That always happened, just one look into the mirror and she was always reminded of who she really was and of where she originated from. Grabbing the mouthwash, the amateur songstress furrowed her eyes in rising anger.

She came to this pub to further her singing and piano career, and because most singers began their road to fame in bars and pubs, and she would be damned to let some restaurateur set her from that course. He probably knew nothing of music and thus, couldn't appreciate it. And here she was, mulling and moping around when there was work to be done. In the morning, she'd be sure to subtlety give Squall a piece of her mind, make her own negotiation with him. She'd even pay him if that was what it took to let her stay. Her mother had wanted to pursue a singing career, but when her life was forfeited, Rinoa upheld the duty to make her mother's dream come true, though she herself found her calling in music. She wouldn't let a simple obstacle like this hinder her, she'd fight. She'd fight for Squall's approval.

He'd see the true determined side of her tomorrow.

Rinoa dumped her slender body unto her bed, petting Angelo as she jumped beside her. Taking a piece of paper and a pencil, the young woman began writing her next song.


End file.
